


Nice To Be Needed

by Drama_Duchess



Category: Third Star (2010)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Dark fic, Davy being rescued, Davy-centric, Depression, Emotional Roller Coaster, Friendship, Gen, Guilty Bill, Guilty Miles, Hurt Davy, Hurt/Comfort, Lots of Crying, Mental Breakdown and Anguish, No Slash, Post-James Death, Self-Mutilation, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-08-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 05:36:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2097627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drama_Duchess/pseuds/Drama_Duchess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James' death hits Davy hard and leaves him in a dangerous and dark place. Consumed with an enormous amount of grief, Davy makes a rash attempt at suicide. Miles races to find Davy and hopefully save him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nice To Be Needed

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for finding and reading this fic. Not many people are aware this wonderful movie exists. Davy is one of those characters who possess so many layers and so much depth. Perhaps, being played by Tom Burke also had something to do with it. This fic could be a short continuation of where the movie left off and explores a darker side of Davy....

**Title:** **Nice To Be Needed**

He made a promise to himself that he would stay strong and immovable to any feeling no matter how painfully emotional things became at the funeral. He was not going to be a grief-stricken, heartbroken, weepy old sod wallowing in self-pity. He was not going to be one of them. Instead, he was going to distance himself and become numb to even the slightest hint of sentiment. No words anyone could say would sway him. He walked into the funeral strong and he was going to walk out of it even stronger. That was the plan. The plan, of course, did not go accordingly.

He sat near the aisle of the first row alongside Mrs. Griffith to his left and Bill to his right. He ignored the starchy collar that occasionally made his neck itch. He hadn't broken out the old monkey suit since his days at the firm two years ago. If it wasn't for the funeral, it would've been completely forgotten and remained tucked away in a garment bag in the depths of his closet. The tailored suit that once was the perfect fit, now hung loosely over his frame. It surprised him how much weight he'd lost since then. He never gave much thought to how he had been eating, apparently not enough. Though, it was a bit frightening to see such a difference now.

It was exactly two years ago when his life changed. He lost his job and ended up becoming the official caretaker of his terminally ill best friend. James needed him and it was nice to be needed for a change. Besides, it gave him a sense of importance and a reason for living. He never banked on getting so attached to James. The truth was that he relied on James as much as James relied on him. And now, James was gone.

He didn't care how he looked. The neglected day-old stubble that appeared on his chin, which once made him look rugged, now only hid the paleness of his complexion. Through the strands of his unkempt mousy brown hair, he stared straight ahead, gaze not transfixed on the casket that held his dear friend, but on the white lilies that adorned the tall vases around the casket. Those around him would've believed him to be deep in thought or, like everyone else, just trying to fathom the death of a loved one.

 _Davy, how are you holding up? I'm sorry for your loss. Let me know if there's anything I can do._ These were just words that didn't offer any real sense of comfort. Davy heard them but didn't respond. The voices sounded distant, unfeeling and a bit forced. He allowed people to hug him and offer more comforting words. But he in turn, he did not show one bit of emotion. His blank face gave the impression that he was grieving and people just left it at that and moved onto the next person they could find to apologize to. They did not know what was going on inside his head. There was so much anger and rage that burned in every fiber of his being. He was mad at the world and equally mad at himself, though he kept it bottled in. He couldn't let anyone know what he was feeling. Not even Miles or Bill.

 _You think you've outsmarted all of us, didn't you? So, this is how you cheat death - beat God to the chase. What right did you have to want it to end it this way? It wasn't up to you. It wasn't your time. Did you consider this a "proper good bye"?_ _Did you ever stop to think that what you did was wrong? Y_ _ou got what you wanted but there are so many loose ends that you've left behind. We're the ones that have to suffer, not you. It's our tragedy - our funeral - not yours. Yes Jim, it WAS too much to ask, you fucking coward._ Davy thought bitterly, all the while holding a completely straight face. Then suddenly, the thoughts gravitated towards something more personal. _Taking care of you was the only thing I had and you managed to take that away from me._ _How do I go on, Jim? How? What is there left for me now? I have nothing. I have nothing..._

There was a noise - a closing of a door somewhere in the back. Davy snapped out of his stupor. He glanced around the room. It was mostly relatives and friends of the family who had shown up, all dressed in their funeral best. The women wore their solemn little deplorable faces and the men had followed along with a hardened stare. Davy smirked and thought how fake they all were. It made him sick. They were transient people who had no idea the type of life James led the past two years. They had no clue on witnessing James transform from being healthy to a completely dependent person. Watching his health deteriorate with each growing day was a lot to process. These people knew nothing.

Davy observed a few women dabbing their eyes with a handkerchief and others had their eyes turned downwards, avoiding any eye contact possible with those around them. Occasionally, he heard a sniffle here and there along with a soft blowing of a nose. He was unaffected. These people didn't know Jim like the way he had. Hell, some of these people didn't even know Jim at all. Davy spotted Chloe and the girls sitting across from him huddled together resembling a large wad of black taffeta and silk. Miles sat behind Chloe, apparently guarding her like a hawk. James' father had asked Miles to say a few words later on. Miles was the academic one, the articulate one, the savvy book writer. He always had something politically correct to say. James' parents were naturally upset and heartbroken but they seemed to be taking this whole thing so much better than anyone else. Perhaps they knew this day was coming and that they were mentally prepared for it. Or it could be because they just didn't have any more tears to cry. Davy watched people come up to James' parents, shake their hands and offer heartfelt condolences. All this did not move Davy one bit. When he grew tired of the scene, he turned his attention back to the lilies in the vases. Bill, who was seated to his right, had not said a word since they arrived.

As the service moved along, Davy grew angrier and angrier. He wanted to bolt. He wanted to walk out that door and never look back. He sat with arms folded across his chest. His hard empty eyes were staring straight ahead, but not focused at anything in particular. He only looked up instinctively when his ears caught the words "Barafundle Bay". Miles was speaking and telling the folks about their last adventure. Something inside Davy snapped and he felt a salty lump growing larger and larger in his throat. He tried to swallow it but it refused to budge. Tears stung and blurred his vision and he could no longer contain them in. Hot burning tears rolled down his face in droplets at first, and then turned into steady streams. He couldn't wipe them away fast enough. Bent over with elbows on knees and face in hands, his whole body shook as he bawled. And soon, the sniffles turned into heaves and the heaves into convulsing sobs. He dug his fists into his eyes, but the tears found ways around them and cascaded down his wrists. Mrs. Griffith stroked his back in comfort and told him it was ok to cry and let it all out. Bill whispered a few soothing words. But nothing helped. His lament was so inconsolable that he couldn't come back from it. The tears just wouldn't stop no matter how hard he tried to control them. The more he tried to force himself to stop, the more the tear ducts rebelled against him. It had gotten so bad that he needed to excuse himself and run out because his uncontrollable sobbing was starting to turn heads and disrupt the service.

He stepped out into the daylight with eyes still brimming with tears. He stumbled as far as his legs could take him before collapsing onto the curb. Nobody understood the anger, the resentment, the betrayal, the excruciating pain that he felt. He sat on the curb with head in hands. He hadn't even noticed that Bill had followed him out. Without saying a word, Bill plopped down next to Davy and just sat there with him. Davy felt a nervous jerk in the pit of his stomach. He heaved and the half-digested sausage burrito he had for lunch suddenly came back up and splattered into the pavement in a brown pulpy mess.

Bill watched on sympathetically and when Davy was composed enough, they returned to the funeral. Davy didn't care that people were looking at him. He didn't care if they whispered, gossiped and judged him. It meant nothing to him. He was the only one of the lot who wasn't in control. He came outright bawling. Maybe it was because he missed Jim the most, or perhaps he was just weak. He had always been weak. He was the one that everyone bullied and took advantage of. All of them - except Jim. Jim was the only one on the planet who treated him like he was a human being. Now that Jim was gone, what was he going to do? Who would need him as much as Jim needed him?

The remainder of the service went on without a hitch. Davy did not sob anymore, nor did he say anything. He only went along with the motions and once the funeral was over, he was going to disappear. He didn't care what people thought of him. He was so beyond that.

When the service ended, people started becoming more animated, each trying to reminisce and recall all the good times they've shared with Jim. It seemed to Davy that they all had already accepted the fact that James was dead and the fact that James committed suicide or mercy killing or whatever one wanted to call it. Davy was the only one who couldn't accept it. He couldn't digest the truth and didn't understand why everyone else was so casual about it. It wouldn't be long before the bittersweet feeling in the air dissolved and people started lingering back to the routines of their daily lives. James would be forgotten and everyone would just move on. Davy managed to duck out while James' parents were busy accepting condolences from people.

"Oi, Davy!" Miles called, running down the street. "Bill and I are going to the Pig-n-Whistle for a round, you comin'?"

"I don't know, Miles." Davy responded. He really wasn't in the mood.

"You can't say no." Miles said, playfully grabbing Davy by the back of the neck. For a lack of purpose, Davy allowed himself to be led away by Miles.

Bill and Miles sat at their usual booth drowning themselves in scotch and memories of Jim. Davy only stared at his half empty glass, not contributing to the conversation. He listened with one ear open. He couldn't explain the hurt that was growing inside of him. It was a darkness that was slowly eating him away, limb by limb. He couldn't stop feeling like he'd lost control of everything – his life, his emotions. It wasn't anything that neither Bill nor Miles would understand. Davy noticed that they had soon stopped talking and were now staring at him.

"What?" Davy said.

"You haven't said so much as two words since we got here. Are you alright?" Miles said.

"Fine." Davy replied.

"If there's something you want to get off your chest, now would be a good time." Bill advised.

"Nothing." Davy answered adamantly and downed the rest of the scotch. Bill and Miles exchanged worried glances. They were both aware of Davy's nervous breakdown at the funeral.

"It helps to talk about it." Miles said.

"There is nothing to talk about." Davy's tone was steady and turned his eyes downward. He did not want his friends to see the truth in his eyes.

"You were pretty distraught at the funeral." Bill said, hoping Davy would open up at least a little.

Davy looked up and rage started pulsating in his veins again. "Well, aren't you all high and mighty now?" He raised his voice just slightly. Bill caught the hurt tone in his friend's voice and gave Miles a what-did-I say-wrong look. "What do you care if I was distraught anyway? Your life isn't fucked up. You have a chance to start fresh and look at you, you pathetic little shit. You're still hanging onto the past, old memories, how good things _used_ to be, and a time when you don't know the meaning of the word responsibility. You're not in school anymore. It's time to fucking grow up Bill."

Miles opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by Davy. "And you, don't you dare start. You're better off than any of us and you choose to just sit here with your thumb up your ass and complain about how life has screwed you over. Unlike some of us, you still have a job to go to. You have a career. I'm sick and tired of you acting like you're above everyone else. Not everything is about _you_. You pretend to give a shit about people around you. But let's face it, you've never cared. You've only ever cared about yourself. Well, news flash you stupid fuck, I don't need your charity. I'm tired of being the punch line of all your lousy jokes." Davy spewed vehemently. He had already gotten up.

"Davy, listen..." Miles said. For the first time since the funeral service, he noticed the bloodshot eyes beneath Davy's mousy brown hair. It looked like he hadn't slept in days.

"No, you listen." Davy gave alternating glances between Miles and Bill. "Fuck off and leave me alone." He said harshly before getting up and leaving the pub.

Bill started to get up after Davy, but Miles caught his arm. "Let him cool off. He's had a tough last couple days. We all had." Miles said.

* * *

Davy made a beeline back to his flat. He shed out of the monkey suit and stepped into the shower. He waited for the hot water to consume him and wash all the grief and pain away, but it doesn't. The tears started falling again. He sobbed and cried even harder. He cried for the years Jim had to suffer. He cried for not stopping Jim from going into the sea. He cried for screaming at Bill and Miles for no reason. But most of all, he cried in spite of himself and his own failure. Caring for Jim was all he had and now, he had nothing. Jim was dead. Miles was the intellectual and had so much going for him and his book. He was more successful than the rest of them. People relied on him and he had Chloe and the girls. Bill was outgoing and had an exciting job as a videographer. He went places and seen things that others only dreamed of. And he was about to embark on a new journey - fatherhood. What did Davy have? He had nothing. He had no career and came home to an empty flat. He wanted escape from the confinements of his miserable life.

He eventually got out of the shower and pulled on a T-shirt and sweat pants. As he stood in front of the sink, he peered through strands of hair and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He realized just how completely useless he was when compared to Bill and Miles. He remembered the scorching words that Miles said to him when they were on their way to Barafundle Bay. Perhaps there was a degree of truth behind those words. It made Davy realize that his life was a complete joke. While everyone was moving on in their lives, he was busy playing nurse-maid to James. _Taken advantage of..._ these words suddenly mocked Davy and something evil in his gut convinced him that it was true. All they do is take and take, until there's no more to be taken. Then you're out on your own, pal. At the end of the day, no one fucking cared. They didn't give a rat's ass about what happened to poor Davy when James finally bit the dust. He felt used.

No one could possibly understand the shit that he had gone through the past two years. Bill and Miles were not there. They haven't seen the really bad days when James was in so much pain that he couldn't get out of bed. They had no idea how many times he had to clean soiled sheets and mop up vomit. They had not seen the awful raw sores that James had to bear. Bill and Miles had no clue how dependent James had been. No one could understand the heartache and remorse Davy felt.

Davy grabbed a six pack of beer out of the refrigerator and sank down onto the living room sofa. He switched on the television and tried to watch the news, but it soon became nothing more than background noise. After taking a lengthy swig of his third beer, he just stared blankly at the adjacent wall. Soon, empty beer bottles lay scattered on the floor, which he had no intention of tidying up. He didn't care. Eventually, the beers and crying rendered him drowsy and he finally fell asleep.

He woke up the next morning to the animated noises of cartoons coming from the telly he had neglected to turn off the previous night. He fumbled for the remote and switched it off. Lying on the sofa, he blinked at the bare wall, a soft shade of ecru. He didn't want to get up. Besides, there was no reason to get up. He had no job to go to. There was no Jim to care for. Nothing gave him a reason to rise and shine.

Davy lay there a good part of the day, just staring at the wall. His mobile buzzed several times. Although his phone was within reach, he neglected to answer it. He didn't want to talk to anyone. He wanted to be left alone. Soon enough, the same people who were trying to reach him on his mobile started calling his landline. Davy ignored the ringing and allowed the answering machine to kick in.

The only time he left the refuge of the sofa was to get more beer. He was still so incredibly angry at the world that he wanted no contact with it. He decided that he hated everyone, including himself.

_Davy, its Bill. Call me when you get this message._

_Hey, it's me. You ok, mate? Call Miles._

_I tried your mobile a hundred times. Why aren't you picking up?_

_Did you forget to charge your mobile again?_

_Where are you? Call me. Call me. Call me._

_Hello, this is Mrs. Griffith. I haven't heard from you since the funeral. Just wondered how you were. Please ring me when you get a chance, hun._

_Why are you ignoring me? Was it something I said? Miles is convinced it was something I said. Alright, call me._

_Ok, it's been three days. We're getting worried about you. I think you're there...pick up the phone...(pause)...come on Davy, pick up the damn phone..._

_Why won't you talk? What's eating you?_

_Mrs. Griffith here again. Just wanted to see if you were free this Saturday. Would love to have you over for dinner. Please say you'll come? Give me a ring, will you love? Buh-bye._

_Ok, now we're really worried. (Sighs) You can't stay in there forever. You have to come out some time. Let's talk._

_Still not picking up? Come on, Davy. Pick up. Just want to know that you're ok. (Long pause before caller hangs up)_

_Fine, have it your way. I'm coming over._

Ignoring the phone wasn't enough. Miles was persistent and showed up in person. He knocked on the door but Davy ignored it, pretending no one was home. "I know you're in there. Open the door, Davy. We need to talk." Miles was answered with complete silence - not even a scraping of a chair or a scuffle of footsteps could be heard behind the door. "Come on, open the fucking door!" His anger and frustration surfaced. He kicked the door with the tip of his boot. More silence. Miles continued to rap on the door several times before giving up and left.

With all his might, Davy angrily hurled an empty beer bottle at the door. He watched the glass splinter into a million pieces. He took another bottle and threw it against the wall, spoiling the smooth paint job. He was so full of anguish and grief that he continued chucking empty beer bottles at walls until there was none left. By then, he was sitting on the floor with knees drawn to chest and arms wrapped around his knees. He burst into tears and cried convulsively until he could cry no more. His eyes absentmindedly fell on an emerald-colored shard of glass that lay several inches from his feet. It mesmerized him and he found that he couldn't turn his gaze away from it.

The shard of glass had an alarmingly sharp edge from where it had broken off from one of the bottles. It spoke to Davy. It kept telling him to pick it up. It told him that it was the answer to his problems. It beckoned and comforted him. He finally reached out and picked it up. With glossy eyes, he stared at it for a long time between his thumb and index finger. And all the while, the glass fragment just shimmered innocently in the light. It caressed him and showed him that there was a solution to his problem. It filled his head with words of everlasting peace and made him realize that he didn't have to _feel_ so much anymore. And that there was a way that would allow him to fall immune to pain and grief - permanent numbness. Something about the glass gave him a new found strength and courage. The last few drops of tears fell from his eyes and he quit crying altogether.

He accidentally pricked the tip of his index finger with the pointy edge and a small red dot of blood bloomed out of the cut. He watched the blood droplet grow bigger and bigger before gravity pulled it down his finger. Davy's heart quickened with excitement. The blood was hypnotic and thoroughly fascinated him. Aside from a tiny itch, it didn't hurt at all. The blood was so silky and smooth in appearance like red velvet. He watched it and began fantasizing. Blood meant life. And it was like he was allowing life to slip out of him. He was in control. It finally dawned on him that _he_ was in control of his life.

In his disturbed mind, he imagined the blood flowing continuously down his hand until there was no more life inside him. He must've sat there for the next several hours, staring wildly at the shard of glass. In doing so, he had completely lost track of time. He realized just how easy it was to die. All he had to do was run the shard of glass across his wrists. It was so fucking easy.

Davy was tired of the horrible pain throbbing in his heart. He wanted it to stop and the only way it would stop, would be to die. At that moment, he had a such a strong burning desire to die. He wanted to feel his life slip away from his body. And doing this was him raising a big middle finger to the world - a cold and cruel world that hated him. Besides, if Jim could have a say in creating the perfect way to die, why couldn't he? There was nothing wrong with that and no one could stop him from doing what he wanted.

He turned the palm of his left hand up to reveal a bony, white wrist. He could see the bluish veins underneath his skin, where precious blood was pumping through them. He closed his hand into a fist. He held the sharp edge of the glass against his tender skin. His eyes hardened with conviction. However, something in the rational corner of his brain, there was a slight moment of hesitation that he couldn't understand. Why did he stop himself? This was what he wanted - to die by his own hand - just like the way Jim decided. New tears welled up in his eyes. His chin shook and tears blurred his vision. He felt weak and suddenly a little indecisive. The power and confidence he had a few seconds ago seemed to vanish.

 _I am NOT a coward. I've been a coward far too long._ Davy thought angrily. He took a deep breath and calmed his nerves. _No, this must be done. I have to do this. It's for the best._ He convinced himself.

Filled with determination, he made the first cut. It was a shallow cut and probably did very little damage. But nonetheless, blood seeped out of the wound in considerable amounts. He needed to go deeper. The second cut was far deeper and when he ran the glass across his wrist, he felt an excruciating spasm of pain run up his arm. It caused him to cry out. There was an odd sort of pins-and-needle sensation. Blood oozed out of the second cut and droplets speckled his clothes and around the floor, but he ignored it. He proceeded to slit his other wrist in the same fashion, except it took several tries to get it right. He couldn't tell if the damage was done. All he knew was that blood gushed out of his wrists dangerously.

Blood dripped all over his shirt and pants, and smeared against the floorboards. Davy, who usually thought of everything, hadn't thought of how messy killing himself would be. It definitely wasn't as glamorous as they make it seem in the movies. Soon, he was overcome by a wave of lightheadedness from the immediate blood loss. His shoulders felt heavy and his head felt like it weighed a ton. He groaned and was on the verge of fainting. There really was no turning back now. He made his choice and this was how he was going to die. He was determined, yet watching the amount of blood rapidly leave his body scared him. He didn't expect the blood to roll out so fast.

Suddenly, his mobile buzzed just inches away. He would've ignored it like all the other calls for the past three and a half days. But something made him reach for the phone. Perhaps it was out of habit or maybe somewhere deep in his heart, he wanted to be saved. He didn't care who it was that was ringing him. His head spun in dizziness causing him to fumble clumsily with the phone. Blood continued to trickle over his hands and arms. In handling the mobile, blood smudged all over it as well. He managed to answer on the sixth ring.

"Davy? Davy, you finally picked up. What the hell is going on with you?" The close to hysterical voice berated on the other end of the line. It was Miles. There was a pause. "Hello? You there?"

"I'm here." Davy said with an unusually calm voice. He was lying on the floor now. Staring up at the ceiling, he cradled the phone as best he could between his ear and shoulder. His arms were growing heavier and heavier, and he just left his bleeding wrists at his sides.

"Why haven't you returned our calls?" Miles questioned. "We've been worried about you."

"I'm sorry." Davy's voice trembled. Just when he thought he couldn't cry any more, his chin shook and tears filled his eyes again. "I'm so sorry." This time it was pretty obvious that he was crying. But it was the disconcerting way he said those words that could've raised other questions. It wasn't just a simple apology for acting like an asshole and not returning phone calls.

"Are you alright?" Miles probed.

"No. I'm not." Davy blubbered. "I'm never going to be."

"This whole Jim thing has affected all of us...look, you want to come out and get a drink? I can get Bill and we can..."

"You don't get it." Davy interjected miserably. "I've already made my choice. I've made it long ago." His voice grew faint.

"What's that supposed to mean? What are you talking about?"

Davy felt incredibly tired and spent. He closed his eyes for a moment. His breath quivered. A few stray tears squeezed out the corner of his eyes. He should just hang up and welcome death, but something prevented him from doing just that. Perhaps somewhere in his heart, he wished that somebody still cared enough to tell him he was worth saving.

"Davy?" Miles said when he heard no response. "Davy, what's wrong?" There was worry in his voice now.

"It doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore, Miles." Davy swallowed in defeat. Miles suddenly realized that there was something Davy wasn't saying. It wasn't just the usually angst and drama that came and went with time. This was something way more serious. Something in Davy's hollow voice made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"It _does_ matter. It always matters." Miles stammered. Concern was growing. This was not the Davy he knew. There was an unusual emptiness in his voice, like as if he'd given up completely, like as if he'd already surrendered. Something in Miles' gut told him that Davy was in a horribly dangerous situation.

"No one cares." Davy choked. "No one. Maybe I really _am_ worthless." He sighed then corrected himself. "I know I am."

"That's not true. You can't believe that. We - Bill and I - we care about you. What do we have if we don't have each other? We've been through way too much to throw it all away now." Miles retorted.

"It hurts. It hurts so much and the pain inside me just grows and grows. It doesn't go away. I want it to stop, Miles. I want it to stop so badly." Davy sobbed desperately. His sobs became so emotionally raw that it frightened Miles. He had never seen Davy so vulnerable. In a few minutes, it would be all over and no one would know what he had done. "I don't expect you to understand."

"I do understand. We're in this together."

"Let's face it, no one's ever understood me. But you're right about one thing, I've always been a loser of sorts. And I can accept that now." Davy sighed, voice still trembling.

"You know that's not true. I - I never meant what I said. You can't think that I was serious. I was only messing with you. And - and I'm sorry. It was not my intention to hurt your feelings." Miles stammered. There was a terrible suspicion gnawing at him. This conversation was going in a direction that Miles did not like. It wasn't an ordinary rant and gripe.

"But it's ok. I've fixed it." Davy admitted bravely without giving away too much information.

"What do you mean _fixed it_? What the fuck does that mean? What did you fix?" Miles spat.

"...I don't blame anyone. It's my fault. It's all me." Davy mumbled. He would've gotten away with it, except a sharp spasm of pain seized him and he suppressed a cry. He sucked in a difficult breath and let out a small whimper.

"Davy...? What? What happened?" Miles pressed. No reply from Davy. "Davy!" He shouted.

"You can't save me. No one can. Not now, not ever." Davy finally said blankly. He would never pull a prank like this - never in a million years. This was something far more severe and fatal. _Fatal._ Slowly, Miles' mind wrapped around something tangible and a sense of fear and horror washed over him immediately. It sounded exactly like what it sounded like and as much as Miles wanted to deny it, he couldn't.

"Tell me you didn't do something stupid." Miles said firmly, but the anxiety in his voice gave him away. "Davy? Answer me."

No answer.

"Davy!" Miles raised his voice. "Where are you?"

"Just - why can't you leave me alone? Why'd you call? Why - why do you care? Why does anyone care?" Davy slurred.

"Where the fuck are you? Are you at home?"

No answer.

"Davy, I mean it. Tell me where you are."

"Been here all day...thinking and thinking. I - I can't be saved. I can't be saved." Davy garbled. He sounded disoriented and unhinged.

"Fuck! You _did_ do something stupid." Miles screamed, but more so out of terror than anger.

"I'll be ok. Don't - don't worry. I fixed everything. I fixed it." Davy was starting to lose his grasp on consciousness. His words muddled. Seconds later, his phone slid onto the floor with a soft thud.

"Davy...stay with me. I'm a few blocks away from your flat. I'll be there in a second." Miles had been in his car driving home. He braked and made an abrupt U-turn. He almost ran over a man crossing the street and with tires screeching, nearly collided with another car. The windows of the BMW rolled down almost immediately and swearing erupted. Miles had no time for a smart reply. He stepped on the gas pedal and sped away.

 _Shit! Now what? What am I supposed to do? Ok, be calm. Gotta keep him conscious. Keep him talking._ Miles thought frantically.

"Davy...talk to me." Miles begged. "Hello?"

"It's what I want. I want this. I deserve this." Davy fought to stay conscious but blood was spilling out of him so fast making him weaker and weaker. Small spots danced in his vision and he had no more strength to hang on.

"No you don't. You don't know what you're saying." Miles hollered. "What did you do?" His voice was laced with uneasiness and panic. This was followed by no sound from the other end of the line. "Davy?" Miles called. No answer. "Goddamn it Davy, say something. What did you do? I'm serious, Davy. Tell me what you did." Miles implored desperately.

A pause.

"I - I can't." Davy whimpered. "Just...just let me go." He sighed softly and closed his eyes.

"No. I won't. I won't give up on you. I - I can help you. Let me help you." Miles blurted. "Davy?"

"So tired..." Davy hadn't even realized he was thinking aloud.

"Davy, don't fall asleep." Miles demanded. Davy was not going to listen. His breathing became shallow and within a few seconds, he gave into the darkness. Miles called for Davy several times and did not get a response.

At the same time, Miles' car pulled up in front of Davy's building. He dialed 999 and ran up the stairs taking two steps at a time. He raced down the hall and found flat 3C. He had only been there earlier that morning. If he had stayed at the time, he could've prevented all this from happening and possibly have been there to talk Davy out of harming himself. The intervention could've saved Davy from falling into that dreadfully dark place. He would've had a reason to come back into the light - if only Miles had been there. And now, it was perhaps too late. Davy had gone ahead and done something very irrational and wrong.

Miles turned the door knob and when it refused to budge, he kicked the door in without hesitation. As soon as the door swung open, he saw the mess that had become of Davy's flat. Broken glass littered the floor and a smell of old beer lingered in the air. Miles' eyes darted nervously around the flat. Shards of glass crunched under his shoes as he stepped into the room.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw Davy lying in the middle of his living room floor with a small puddle of blood pooling behind each deeply slit wrist. The sight was shocking and for a second, Miles just stood there petrified, unable to move from the spot. He glanced over the speckles and splatter of blood on Davy's clothing before his eyes travelled to Davy's face. The tips of Davy's mousy brown hair were moist with sweat. Bags under his closed eyes showed evidence that he had been crying excessively. Stubborn tear stains were still present on his pasty cheeks. He couldn't believe Davy had done this. Self-mutilation was not something that Davy was capable of. He may have been a little kooky sometimes, but he was by far never a violent person. He always had a passive, gentleness in his personality that often came off as being predictable. He did not have a single violent bone in his body, as far as Miles knew. Davy was supposed to be the rational one of the group. He was always the "responsible" one, the designated driver, the go-to person for solutions, the one who was always willing to help, the one who thought of everything.

Miles was horrified at how Davy could go this far. He knew something had to have made Davy snap - something big enough to drive him to this, feeling that this was the only alternative. Miles stood there completely flabbergasted and at the same time, sickened at the sight before him. A nauseous feeling suddenly crept up on him and he immediately covered his mouth, hoping he wouldn't get sick.

"Oh no, no, no Davy. Why the fuck did you slice yourself up?" Miles cried grievously.

 _Oh please, please, please. Please be alive._ Miles thought. He navigated his way around the mess.

"Davy, can you hear me? Davy? Come on, open your eyes." Miles dropped down next to him. He had a hand cupped against Davy's pale cheek, trying to lull some life back into his friend. He noticed a small smear of blood had colored Davy's cheek where the phone had rested. Davy responded with nothing more than a soft "mmm".

Miles quickly grabbed two kitchen towels and proceeded to tie them securely to the wounds to stop the bleeding. There was so much blood and it seemed to flow out continuously in alarming amounts. Miles' hands became stained with blood soon enough. As he looked around, his eyes hooked onto the evil shard of glass Davy had used to slit his wrists. It was lying there, drenched in blood, taunting and looking satisfied at its accomplishment.

Miles felt nearly all the bones in Davy's lanky frame when he grabbed him by the shoulders. He was appalled at Davy's unusually frail and thin appearance in a matter of just three days. Davy had not been eating. It was apparent that Davy had lost a great deal of weight and appeared almost malnourished to the point where he was showing slightly more bone than muscle. Miles realized this and shook his head in dismay.

"The ambulance is on the way. Hang on, Davy. Don't die on me. Please don't die." Miles implored. He sat there helplessly applying pressure to Davy's wrists and anxiously awaiting for the medics to arrive.

* * *

Bill sat on a bench in the hallway of the hospital waiting for an answer from the doctor. Miles was fidgety and found a small sense of comfort pacing the length of the hall. After a few minutes, he took a seat next to Bill. Neither of them said a word for a while.

"How did we not see this coming?" Bill asked breaking the silence.

"Maybe we were too caught up in our lives to notice him falling apart." Miles answered, feeling more guilt that he'd ever felt in his life. "I can't believe he did this. I can't believe he tried - _tried to kill himself_." The last words got caught in his throat.

"We really should've looked after him better. Jim's death hit him hardest, I think." Bill said with regret. "I remembered what happened at the funeral. I don't think I've ever seen him so broken. And I said nothing to him. I did nothing. I should've said something...maybe not have left him alone. Cause when you're alone and that vulnerable, you think things. And you get sucked into desolation."

"He was deteriorating." Miles said. "Bit by bit. If only I had been thoughtful enough to see the signs."

"That's the problem. There weren't any signs that pointed to this. Davy never gave us any warnings." Bill said. "I wonder what was going on inside his head from the time we left Barafundle till now. One of us should've asked."

"When I was talking to him on the phone, he sounded so empty and lost like as if he'd given up. He - he was sobbing so awfully. Bill, this is not supposed to happen. It's just not. Losing Jim was enough. We can't lose Davy as well. If I cared more, he wouldn't have felt the need to do this." Miles said, leaning forward with head in hands. His voice faltered and stifled a sob. "...finding him like that - lying unconscious in a pool of blood. I don't know, I can't help but think that maybe I drove him to this. This is my fault. I was constantly bullying him...and - and all those awful things I send to him at Barafundle. I kept pushing him farther and farther off the edge until he had nowhere left to stand. It was so unfair. I shouldn't have treated him like that."

"Don't blame yourself. If we know Davy at all, he's a forgiving soul. He doesn't hold a grudge like the way we do." Bill placed a comforting hand on Miles' shoulder. "He'll throw a hissy fit at most, but after the moment is over, he's all good again."

Bill was partly glad he wasn't the one to find Davy. He didn't know how he would've reacted to that awful image of blood pouring out of Davy's wrists. Perhaps Miles had been the strongest one out of their group. After all, it was Miles who stayed with James in the bay until the very end. He went through with it and watched James die. Bill empathized with the dread that must be going on inside Miles' mind in having to watch another one of his mates die. The trauma was just too much.

"He wouldn't have answered the phone if there was some part of him that didn't want to be saved." Bill reasoned. "It was his way of crying for help. It was a good thing you rang when you did."

"Bill, I was there this morning. I was there. Why didn't I stay? For all I know he was behind that door thinking about hurting himself. If I hung around long enough, I don't know, maybe I could've talked him out of it or - or wrestled that piece of glass out of his hand. I could've done _something_." Miles exhaled a quivering sigh.

"You couldn't have known. Don't beat yourself up about it."

There was a dreadful silence between the two, but they both had the same thing on their minds. It was hard to avoid and Bill was the first one out of the two to verbally acknowledge it.

"If he dies, we have to be ready for that news." Bill said softly, leaning his head back. He didn't want to put a damper on the already solemn mood, but it was a touch of reality.

"He won't die. He can't die. Not after what happened to James." Miles shot back defensively. "Davy will survive, just like he always does."

Though, they both knew in their hearts that there was a chance Davy wasn't going to make it. They could bury their heads in the sand all the wanted, but the truth was still there.

The waiting felt like an eternity. They were slowly losing their patience, along with their wits. Growing more and more restless by the minute, Bill wanted to charge his way through the emergency room doors and demand an answer. Miles had to restrain him several times. Finally, a scraggly-looking doctor in a billowing white lab coat spilled out of the emergency room and lopped towards Bill and Miles. They stood up in anticipation when they saw him approaching.

"How is he, doctor? Is he going to be ok?" Bill pressed before the doctor could say a word.

"Your friend has lost a great deal of blood. He's definitely done himself some damage. But we've stitched him up and he's stabilized for the time being." The doctor said frankly. "He's not out of the woods just yet. We'll have to monitor him closely for the next 24 hours."

"Can we see him?" Miles asked impatiently.

"He's being transported to a room as we speak. You can see him once he's settled in. The nurse will let you know the room number." The doctor replied. He answered a few more questions before excusing himself.

* * *

Miles and Bill remained in Davy's room and held vigil by his bedside, almost like as if they were afraid Davy would wake up and try to kill himself again. Miles had pulled a plastic chair over to the side of the bed. He sat and stared at the figure sleeping. It was hard to believe that this was the same easy-going, responsible-minded Davy they used to hang out with. This was so out of character for even Davy. He wasn't the sort to think of these things no matter how bad things got. He was supposed to be a survivor, a fucking sunshine on a stick. Davy wasn't like Miles or Bill. He was selfless. He was always there. Everyone needed Davy.

Davy appeared so small under the thermal covers. The nurses had changed him into a polka dotted hospital gown and gotten rid of the old bloodied clothes. He looked clean and orderly. Not at all like how Miles remembered Davy to look when he found him on the floor of his flat. There were thick white gauze bandages that wound up and around both of Davy's hands and wrists, making it look like he wore a pair of white boxing gloves. As well, he was hooked up to an array of machines monitoring his vitals.

Bill stared out of the window looking at nothing in particular. He thought about James and wondered how he would've reacted to this. Then he thought about Davy, who must've been so troubled and devoid of all hope to resort to suicide. It was building and no one saw it - not even his best mates. Bill felt extremely guilty because he felt he should've noticed something wrong with Davy. He knew how terribly broken Davy was at the funeral. That should've been a warning. Bill asked himself over and over again why hadn't he "seen" it. He turned his head and glanced at Davy. One word came to his mind - peaceful. Peaceful like the way James looked all laid out in the coffin, except Davy wasn't dead.

Davy's head was slightly tilted to the side, exposing an angular stubble jawline that perhaps on a healthier day, highlighted his handsome face. A soft mop of hair fell over his forehead, giving him an almost boyish appearance. Bill could see a gaunt collarbone exposed from top of Davy's hospital gown and different colored wires disappearing into the opening. An IV drip by the bedside dispensed fluids into his body, making him appear all the more fragile in the huge bed.

Perhaps another hour or so later, Davy started regaining consciousness. He felt extremely groggy like as if he'd been stuck in some dream he couldn't fully wake from. His whole body felt heavy, exhausted, and disabled. There was a prickly sensation coming from his shoulders and wrists. His wrists didn't hurt as much as they should, though he wasn't aware that the morphine was numbing the pain. His mind was fuzzy and made thinking straight really hard to do. He moaned and turned his head slowly.

"Davy." Bill said anxiously. He watched Davy's eyes open to a sliver at first, adjusting to the light, and then peeling open wider. "It's ok, mate. You're in hospital." Bill added softly when he saw the panic reflected in Davy's big saucer blue eyes. "You'll be ok."

The troubled look in Davy's eyes told Bill more than any words could possibly describe. Davy soon realized his suicide attempt was foiled by his own mates. Although he was physically drained, the feeling of sadness still dawdled and he couldn't ignore it. There must've been a reason why they saved him. If no one truly cared, would he have ended up in the hospital instead of the morgue? There was so much confusion in his mind that he couldn't decide what he should really feel.

There was something rather comforting in Bill's scruffy bearded face and he just stared at him. Davy sucked in a pained breath and whimpered. His bluish lips parted slightly. He wanted to apologize for the mess he had caused but he couldn't find his voice. Tears welled up in his big eyes and the dam was seconds away from bursting.

"Now, now. Don't go there. Everything's going to be alright." Bill hushed. "We're here for you."

"Bastard. What the fuck were you thinking?" Miles fumed. "Why, Davy. Why did you do this? Is it because you feel pity for yourself? Is that it? Or did you do it to draw attention to yourself? Were _we_ supposed to feel sorry for you? You go and kill yourself, we stuff you in a coffin and stick you six feet under. And then what? We spend the rest of our lives grieving and pining for you, and thinking that maybe there was something we could've done differently - anything to save you. Do you find pleasure in this? You selfish prick." Davy's glance switched over to Miles, who was standing at the foot of his bed with hands on hips and an angry scowl on his face.

"Miles." Bill cautioned, giving him a wide-eyed what-the-fuck-is-the-matter-with-you look. He wasn't sure where all this anger and insensitivity was coming from and it surprised him. Just a few hours ago, Miles was near hysterical with worry.

"No, Bill. The fucker needs to get something straight." Miles thundered. He turned back to Davy with eyes glaring. "You had it all figured out, didn't you? You thought you could just take the easy way. Suicide was the answer to all your problems. The perfect solution. This has been your plan all along, hasn't it? Guess what? You're not James. You don't have the right to fuck with your life like this. Not after James - not..." His voice trailed off.

Miles walked to the window and put his hands on the pane. Staring at the dust that had collected on the pane for a moment, his tone changed. "Too many people have exited my life. I've lost too much. I've lost my dad. I've lost James. I'd have lost you as well. And I can't bear it." His voice shook heavily.

"After dad died, I thought it was the last I'd ever have to deal with this shit. Then James got sick and it was like the same thing all over again. I moved in and out of James' circle not because I didn't care. It was because I couldn't face it. I couldn't face him. I couldn't watch him get sick. And now, you go on and pull something like this. It really hurts having to lose one more person to circumstance." Miles choked back a sob. He swung around and jammed his fists into his jeans pockets. He had a most pained expression on his face. If one looked really closely, one would have seen a stray tear slide down his face. "I've been a terrible friend to you. I should've looked out for you."

Davy remained silent as Miles changed from fuming anger to sentimental banter. This odd display of affection by Miles was new to Davy and he didn't quite know quite how to react.

"You deserve a lot better. I'm sorry, Davy. I'm sorry for being an asshole. I really, truly am. Like it or not, we're brothers and we stick together. We're all we have." Miles alternated glances between Davy and Bill.

Glassy-eyed, Davy starred at Miles in awe at the apology. It was very rare that Miles would apologize for anything. He was the type who always believed he was right about everything. This was the first time Miles ever showed any humbleness and genuine kindness towards him.

"I know you're hurting. And I promise to help you through this. Whatever it takes, however long it takes. I won't let you slip away." Miles watched a few tears squeeze out of the corners of Davy's eyes and run down his face.

"Well, you were a pretty big asshole." Davy's voice was raspy. An insult was his way of showing Miles that he forgave him. That prompted a half smile on Mile's lips. They had been friends way too long to not be able to catch each other's drift. It was like a secret hand shake or some other silly habit best friends shared.

Davy moved and tried to sit up but groaned in discomfort the moment he moved his arms. His fingers were barely mobile and could only manage a tiny lethargic wiggle of his pinky.

"It's best to stay still." Bill advised. "You're pretty doped up on morphine right now."

Davy tilted his head back and sank deeper into the pillow. His face grew alarmingly pale, nearly as white as the pillowcase. He exhaled, winced, and for a brief second, it looked like he was about to pass out. "Are you in pain? Should I call for the nurse?" Bill spluttered with concern, already standing.

"No, I'm fine. Just a bit light-headed is all." Davy breathed weakily. Bill reluctantly sat back down.

"Well, I imagine you should be. You've practically loss half the blood in your body." Bill exaggerated, trying to keep the situation light.

"Tell us if you are in pain and we'll ask the nurse to up your dose." Miles offered.

"Davy, the Griffith's are in the waiting room down the hall. They know what happened. They came as soon as they heard. They've been asking about you." Bill said.

"No! I don't want to see them. I can't see them. I - I don't want to see anyone." Davy cried with agitation. The heart monitor above him spiked causing a series of loud beeps. He cringed slightly at the sudden pain he felt as his heart thumped rapidly against his chest. He could hear his heartbeats thudding wildly in his ear. He was not proud of what he tried to do. It would've been much easier had he died. He was ashamed of himself and could not face James' parents. He didn't know if he was ever going to be able to face them after this.

"Uh-oh. I don't think it's supposed to do that." Miles said as he looked worriedly at the lines zigzagging rapidly on the heart monitor.

Davy shifted a nervous glance at the door half expecting the Griffith's to walk in at any minute. He became more and more distressed. "Bill, they can't come in here. I don't want to see them." He gasped like as if he was trying to hide some terrible pain. It broke Bill's heart to see Davy acting like a small scared child.

"Alright. It's alright. Calm down. Relax." Bill soothed as gently as he could, upon seeing Davy so worked up. "You don't have to see anyone if you don't want to. I don't know why you don't want to see them. They are very worried and want to see you. But like I said, you don't have to see them if you don't want to." Bill couldn't risk Davy going into hysterics in present condition. He had to watch the blood pressure.

"We'll just explain to them that you're not up for any more visitors today, isn't that right Bill? They'll understand." Miles added. "But right now, Davy, you have to calm down."

A few big glassy bulbs of tears rolled down Davy's cheeks. He wanted to brush them away but he couldn't move his arms. He wondered what was going to happen to him now that everyone knew he tried to commit suicide.

"Please don't ask me why I did it." Davy finally said while staring at the ceiling tiles. "I can't..." He sighed, not wanting to say what he really wanted to say. He couldn't find the strength to admit his guilt, and confront the real reason why he wanted so much to die.

"It's ok. We won't." Bill replied and exchanged glances with Miles. "Davy, don't cry anymore. You've cried enough. I wish you would believe it when we say we'd understand. We really do, 'cause we're your mates. We feel your anguish and pain."

"You've already made so many sacrifices. You've dedicated yourself to taking care of Jim in his greatest time of need. You didn't abandon him because he needed you. We're sorry that we weren't there to help more." Miles said. "We could've learned a lot from you. You've done good by Jim and I know he was one hell of a lucky bugger to have you there. But it's time for us to take care of _you_ now. We need you as much as you need us. Please. Just don't - don't do this again. We'd - I'd - never forgive myself if you succeeded."

Davy wasn't sure if he was ever going to make another attempt on his life again. He couldn't make a promise, especially since the future was so unpredictable. But for now, he was going to allow his friends to take care of him. It was something he needed for such a long time. His life was a mess and he had no idea when or if he could get back into the swing of things. It's never easy getting over almost killing yourself. Davy had problems, he knew it. His mind still teetered and danced dangerously around depression.

He needed the support of his friends now more than ever.

**The End**


End file.
